what god doesn't know
by PerfectPerception
Summary: Things don't always get better. They just become a lot harder. — KaienRukia. one-sided RukiaIchigo. IchigoOrihime


**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.  
**Author's Notes:** This follows the anime plot line opposed to the manga. &written because, even if I love Rukia, it's almost ridiculous how people disregard the IchigoOrihime ship. As much as I adore Rukia with Ichigo and would absolutely _love_ it if they ended up together, the former pairing seems a bit more plausible than the latter to me, personally (don't kill me), and KaienRukia is my OTP :D But you know how that ends. And, although the IchigoOrihime pairing is listed in the summary, its a bit more implied in a tiny abstract; realization kind of way.**  
**

I.

_Suffering does not always condemn those who deserve it._

It's light and wispy and the tingling feeling of adrenaline is gone alongside the pain that was supposed to ensue shortly after.

She's dead.

More accurately, she's _been_ dead for years.

But she hadn't died too young not to understand now, in present time, her sister had completely abandoned her and expected her to continue on.

Still, even with the intricate whispers of encouragement taken from familiar baited breaths ghosting over her ear, she doesn't. She can't. It's too unknown, too dark, and far too long for her to walk; to travel with no destination, compass, or map within her eluding grasp between knobby fingers and stretched skin.

She doesn't stop the waterworks for days as she wanders the streets of her close; now distant home and thinks her skin assumes she's lost in the ocean with her endless and withering crying; failing to enjoy the glimpse of detection from a teeming group of older adolescents in unfamiliar clothes.

Her wails make them cringe and one with inky black hair and an insolent disposition volunteers/is pushed to silence her however he wants.

When he approaches her she yelps in surprise and then panic paints her lungs and limits her breathing. "G-go away!" she trills, clenching her fists and waves them about to fend him off. In return, however, he doesn't nudge and the overly confident smirk previously pinned on his face fades as a frown replaces it. Even with his change of demeanor, he's still a prominent threat and she cries again, "did you hear me? I said–"

"Yeah, I heard ya the first time," he snaps before she can finish. She appears dumbstruck from his interruption while she stares at him through a blurry, unsystematic vision; unable to hear him add incoherently under his breath. "Squirt." He then masks his grimace with a softer smile and she can feel delicate waves dance over her heart before he hands her something that resembled a peach. "Eat it; it'll calm ya down. I promise it won't hurt one bit, maybe will even make ya sleep."

She blinks away the last of her tears before vaguely realizing she hasn't slept for hours piled upon hours now.

Warmth engulfs her and she smiles a watery smile. "I'm Rukia," she informs him diligently, biting into the unknown fruit, and he pats her head with a broad smile. She knows he'll forget it, never see her again and will push her trivial face and name to rearward of his mind, but she thinks, maybe, he won't. Just maybe, they'll see one another again. Where and when, she doesn't know. But somewhere; sometime is an entirely different story.

A cool, lulling feeling washes over her when his hand leaves and he smirks half-heartedly when her conscious is nearly gone. "See ya around kid."

And she thinks, yes, he _will_ see her around.

II.

_Emotions are His creation's biggest flaw. Because they're beautiful, captivating, destructive, and devastating. Just like His creations themselves._

Admittedly, the woman possesses admirable beauty.

Every contour of her symmetric face, her eyes wide with kindness and love, her hair glowing with radiance and soft vanilla, her body gorgeously molded, shaped; almost contorted, is nothing but perfection.

Jealousy is pettiness.

Rukia knows.

But she's not like other girls. No, definitely not. And she isn't jealous of Miyako's flawless appeal like the other female subordinates are when she, by chance, passes the higher ranked officer for one fleeting moment. She's just simply _jealous_ but harbors equal admiration. It's confusing and messy, but Rukia's always been confusing and messy.

Unable to pinpoint where and why her jealousy manifests itself within her, instead, she ignores it and overshadows the brewing poison with even greater respect.

_then hands that brush against her own linger longer, eyes watch her too closely, her heart seems to beat with another, her skin prickles and crawls with something unlike suspicion or uneasiness _(desire, it could be. maybe; maybe not. hopefully; most likely; probably not. because these undecipherable hieroglyphics with meaningless nouns, verbs, adverbs, proverbs, adjectives is woven too deep in complexity.) _and she thinks she might just belong as violet meets blue_.

But somehow it returns when the younger girl notices Miyako still holds such terrible beauty while wielding her sword dripping with her own trusted men's blood alongside the love still blinding her husband's disbelieving eyes.

Within a few fleeting moments, red stains Rukia's cheeks and mingles with her respectively dirty tears. But she isn't beautiful. She's destroyed.

III.

_The foundation in which beings build their lives on can easily become the earthquake that suddenly and mercilessly crumbles it._

"I'm Kuchiki Rukia."

Sometimes, she thinks his hair should be white.

It contrasts black so nicely, doesn't it?

Just like an arrogant smile opposes a grief-ridden frown.

The sound echoes and it slides so smoothly into him like butter. She feels a bit twisted at the thought, but she shouldn't be fazed after all the hideous monsters she had to face and grotesque masks she sliced through prior to this sloppy encounter. Thankfully, this time around, the blood is not shed accordingly but a chasm is created beneath her very being and she falls into the blackened uncertainty; unsure if she wants to rise from it.

"I'm Kurosaki Ichigo."

IV.

_Heaven may not completely differ from Hell depending on the circumstance._

Ichigo scowls when she looks at him with anger and hate, scowls when she feigns herself as someone else to his classmates, scowls when he blocks out the unbearable sighs and mourning she exudes during the middle of the night while alone in his closet, but smiles when he catches a little glint of nostalgia in her eyes.

She naturally thinks he's humoring her, of course, and it vanishes just as quickly as it appears when she decks him.

His scowl will then return and she hates herself more than anything.

She's _so _selfish.

Because, when the sides of his lips twitch and lift upward, there's a silhouette of an already fixed smile, one that's too familiar, haunting, and uncharacteristic she has to slap it off him.

At times, she feels its only reserved for her and that _just won't do_.

She finds herself selfish once more because she knows that's not true.

V.

_Nature will ultimately bear His children and lastly destroy them._

Humans are blissfully ignorant and she loves it.

She believes she once lived outside the ruins of the Soul Society but can't recall, in any type of detail, if she had. Hopefully, if she did, then she was just as blissful and just as ignorant.

Maybe even taller, hopefully.

Because she just can't seem to reach anyone's height as they stand amidst her and he plans to tell her; quite verbally.

She can then smile inwardly because, even for the shortest centimeter of a second, she could smell (not feel, feeling led to other terrible paradoxes) the warmth off him.

And it hurts so bad. Like a fine knife peeling the flesh off her arm with scrutinizing hands. Or messy ones, tearing random skin from her in a raged, filthy frenzy. The blood's gleam lights her inkysmokydarkdark hair and violet eyes, pirouetting between the words _against_ and _on_ her pearly white skin; the crimson color far too blinding and unnatural.

His eyes' color contain the burning ambers of the sunset.

But _Orihime's_ eyes are shaped like Miyako's.

And that's when Rukia understands where her place lies.

She also understands the same terror cowering in the black depths of Orihime's pupils. After all, she can relate to the horror of knowing a complete enigma having the ability to splatter loathing, jealousy, and heartbreak all balled up into one bottled; ugly emotion against her heart. The pain is too familiar and her smiles crack from then on.

Stepping back is what she must nobly do next.

It's just not fair, she initially thinks but then pauses when she realizes, _when did anyone ever say anything would be_?

So this is what it feels like to finally lose.

VI.

_Things don't always get better. They just become a lot harder._

Orihime's eyes are as gray as clouds carrying downpours.

Ichigo's eyes are a short cry of the sunset.

Kaien's eyes are the bluest skies one can ever behold.

While Rukia…

Rukia's eyes are the faint rim of the moon.

And, just like the moon, she'll elude the storm, always chase after the sunset, and will never reach the day.


End file.
